Upsides to the Topside
by Messere Fingers
Summary: Prince Aeducan admires the finer things on the surface.


Sodding topsiders had nerves of steel. Forget Darkspawn. For Morel Aeducan, real courage was living in a world without a ceiling. A glance upward, to the starry sky, was enough to set his stomach swimming, almost coaxing back up the slop Alistair had served them for dinner. Lamb and pea stew? What was a lamb? Morel imagined some hulking, hairless beast with leathery flesh. As tough and bland as that slop they'd all choked down for pity's sake alone. Stone forbid any of them upset Alistair; the quiet nights that followed now that his fellow Grey Warden's periodical sobbing had had subsided were so nice.

Living under the open sky and eating Alistair's cooking. That took real courage. All in all, the surface was not the former Prince's favorite place.

An annoyed hiss drew his attention from the apple he had eaten nearly to the core (in an attempt to scourge the taste of his fellow Warden's "cooking), to the omnipresent scowl of their resident apostate. Morrigan scrutinized the tome he'd lifted from Circle Tower, sitting up from the bedroll she had originally meant to relax against to curl angrily around the book. He smiled slightly. Then again, there were other perks to the surface, not the least of which was the women (apples and other fruit being a close second). The elves were worth a quick look, their slender, taller forms rather exotic. Yet they were were also rather… bony. Nowhere near as alluring as the voluptuous Dwarva Morel had known.

The Humans, though? There were some very curvaceous humans on the Surface, with all the exotic height of the elves. Moreso, in fact.

His amber eyes flitted over to the Witch, over the generous swell of her breasts, covered only just by the swath of her blouse. Stone save him, they were nearly as big as his head. He recalled the last of his kind that he had bedded, a giggly, freckled young thing with nice pert breasts that fit just rightly in the palm of his hand. Morrigan, though, was well endowed even among her own kind. He could scarcely imagine what it would be to cup such a melon. They probably tasted just as sweet, too. The dwarf's eyes trailed further down, along the curve of her lips and around to long legs, supple and pale and bare now that she had slipped off her boots, called invitingly to him. Morel's fingers twitched, recalling the small sighs he had ellicited from dwarves women when he pressed their calves in just the right ways. With human women, he would have more territory to work with. Would Morrigan sigh, were he to take his hands to her leg? No, surely not. The Witch was like a queen, sure of what she wanted and adamant that she have it exactly. She would regard him with a pleased quirk of her lips, bidding his experienced fingers where she would find them most pleasurable. And of course the Prince would be happy to satisfy his lady, it being a King's job to satisfy his Queen. Yet Morel was skilled with his hands. Far more destroys than either of his brutish brothers. Sighs could quickly become gasps which could become moans even faster. He wondered what it would take to cause Morrigan's eyes to flutter, her smile waver and supple lips part, allowing a single, audible breath to announce her crumbling composure.

" 'tis rude to stare, Warden," she announced suddenly, raising her eyes from the dusty tome resting upon her knees, "One could mistake your gawking for horror. No woman wants to think herself ugly."

Morel chuckled, his amber gaze meeting her golden one. "Horror would be the wrong word entirely, my lady, and hardly interesting besides. No, I've always found beauty more captivating than any morbidity. One stops to admire flowers before wrinkling their nose at mud, no? So, understandably, you struck me quite dumb for several long moments, dear Flower."

She offered a small laugh herself, one that set a shiver to rolling up Alistair's spine. "Flattery, is it? I did not know the Dwarves were so well versed in verse."

"You should hear a smith wax poetic about 'the dignified curl of the glittering lyrium'. I digress, though. I pray I've not offended?"

"Oh no. 'tis not unwelcome, your silver tongue. It may come to blows with my sharper one, but not unwelcome. Still be mindful of where your eyes linger; another moment spent upon my bosom, and I may have had to teach you manners in the form of a palm upon your cheek."

Morel grinned. "Yes ma'am."

Morrigan returned to her book for a moment, before glancing at the dwarf once more. His gaze was still affixed to her, though she found his eyes meeting her once more. Morel grinned and drank the beauty of her face. The elegant jawline and slender neck, to her dark lashes and supple lips. He imagined how soft those lips would feel as he ran his thumb upon them, imagined Morrigan, with mischief in her golden eyes, suckling lightly at the pad of his digit. He offered her a wink.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before her gaze fell back to the tome. She did not chide him this time, though. She in fact leaned back against her sleeping roll, stretching one leg out before her, and reclining far enough to the pount the barest pink rim peeked out from beneath her blouse, bright as fire on the porcelain white of her breast. Morel grinned and took another bite from his apple.

Yes, there were indeed upsides to being topside.


End file.
